“Trilobyte is a prime example of ‘write the poem you want to read.’ BogotaHorribLe has endulged himself into making what he thinks would be a fun experience, disregarding the reader. The result is a short bland artsy experience that fails to live up to its price-tag. A clunky conceit, and forced boring ‘anthropological’ images (one involving this reviewer) doesn’t make things better.”
God hard-press crushed; perplexed, in despair; persecuted, forsaken; struck down, destroyed. battles. deception, defeat, destruction, death. roar into you Angels chase wilderness in audacious strange heir. Confident throne. Earnest requests of blood spill your God. if you have a mountain jump God Will do what you want
treestars of spture mythstrongle
ot reman asay
what ment
thru that throe the myth
the d turngth t away
me ought thru wood of the coripturipturu trer
dyour fic lo, inter
or ong sofoot and cut it therupt browna
but i am s vacat tur coul as that say.
like we th caror belling the thoughat ito deandled
mythru dundayssertit is the beasts like earth caroes.
the ble toes. the ben? an.
rigularlievingle, new south by gild men?
angulartion.
oking woode the churoes.
look a cle corn equist.
and whe cory, thalf-s vacasts at is myth one
of the dusay. what myth o deat yourner.
the s hists. to picorner coulook ight ts.
the bour owe do, savay of my grt. myth
the does nd whaway. i prot is the e corned tof the!
humand wharth, a st youripturly exist. does dusk.
does dusk. oneaf lath againter for beasts
not it ist thess. a streed. motive cornd turner.
is vacorneru tre to e the delayths. to say me that killes of speedcorner own.
our lled of thru dusk. lookiner. nat tuild mud.
was ke ourly express exist. the twispecif langularlina.
rhythoughtive
was ke our the thato deacant. r.
nas melina. of specifific le to
strond ratly ag wood cut.
i know what precisely to say do i say a few years back what's right and how much of love is high cheek bones and how many high cheek bones gatherd here how low the creek groans bones and how much left i felt the thin cracks in what's right and how does algae grow so deeply phonetic down my chest beauty when ever where ever i'm not looking at my phone am i begging myself to stay say a few years back what precisely do i mean or am i asking me or am i asking me or am i asking my phone when ever i'm right behind myself that's how love is high cheek bones and glass skin and how much of love is deeply photosynthetic am i asking my phone which i am not looking at first that master's eyes surrounded by bones and how much of love is a long stemmed wine glass there are my high cheek bones love and how much of love is thin cracks in that master's degree eyes surrounded by all the pain out of hand i know what precisely do i mean or am i muttering again either way i see myself of course in my master's eyes surrounded by all the rosette bone algae growing so deeply phonetic then i say a few years worth of what's right and yet look first that's how much is felt see the seamouth's signifier and how much of love is glass thin skin cracks in the long stemmed wine glass full of saltspit there are high cheek bones and then there are high cheek bones in a low cut white v-neck crawling with algae so deeply photosynthetic am i asking myself or am i asking me say a few years go by what precisely do i say then after a few thin years
radiate what errs
as if it’s that simple
take words
mind nimble blades
being best free
let them delicate
among tantalizing ableness
let mind belong
let it glide to prayer
and grasp the error of being
not every sentence
needs a verb
this one
for instance does
not demand it
now this small pocket of music
set down by leroi jones in my genes
must be crawling through the world’s
fetid cast it’s not that he’s dead he’s
just one man anyway the poet as strap
material not dead as in buried but
we’re some kind of threadbare king
barren times they are a-changin’
one’s critical diaper so goods perhaps
this terrible diction and so much
psycho-holy meaning depends upon
yourself of ideas retention into the soul
perhaps ripples through leroi
into the irony into delicious diction
of all talk about a few pleasing lines
about the anonymous backwards
kind of blue about o’hara’s poem
consciously poetical as though one were
writing about art food or never will be
just a finger on a hand fingering about
oneself for the god of godless faith
generalize
calculate
die
decide
decide
decide
decide
decide
decide
decide
purify
theorize
generalize
finalize
localize
imagine
combine
combine
reach
appear
appear
appear
appear
appear
appear
appear
appear
appear
appear
appear
appear
appear
appear
appear
appear
appear
appear
appear
approach is a generalize
transform
transform
big top
forecast
combine
exacerbate
test
manifest
summarize
stablize
accelerate
reach
resent
evidence
back
to invigorate
manifest
manifest
terminate
reach
reach
appear
appear
appear
appear
appear
appear
appear
appear
appear
appear
appear
appear
appear
appear
behold
open your throat and taste
the bathroom air in your m
outh your lungs on your lip
s youre not smelling but there
it is shit what can be d
one but to now close your
mouth dummy you dont have
to do everything pe
ople tell you love it all
“I am often asked why I write, and I don’t know really—I just want to.”
John Ashbery in The Paris Review
you locked the door behind, you what else
could i do? you were young, i wanted more.
in his suicide note K dreamed about
Freddie — admired, envied — never locked
their door. silent, wind and highway light crawling
sharp, i remember you mad against
the white brick wall posed as imperfection.
i had the locksmith come as a favor
he couldn’t have known, what else could he do?
i thanked him with cash, the actor performed.